Page 23 of Knot Unwanted: Part Two

“One of us needs to go to him,” I whisper.

Stone’s jaw works as he processes what I’m asking. His eyes close briefly, a muscle jumping in his cheek as the vehicle continues down the highway. When he opens them again, they’re full of a pain so raw it makes me flinch.

“I’ll stay with Finn,” he grinds out. “But if you’re not back by dawn, I’m coming for you both.”

It’s not agreement. It’s not even acceptance. It’s a temporary ceasefire in a war we never wanted to fight.

“Stone—” Jax begins, but Stone cuts him off with a sharp gesture.

“Don’t.” His voice is glacial. “Okay, fuck. I don’t need your fucking level-headed pack leader bullshit right now, Jax.” He pulls the SUV over to the shoulder, the tires crunching on gravel. “You need to switch vehicles anyway. Heath’s people will be looking for this one.”

He’s right. The knowledge settles like lead in my gut. We’ve been so focused on finding Hailey that we’ve been sloppy. The SUV is registered to us. It’s a beacon, a flashing light announcing our approach.

“There’s a garage three blocks from the hospital,” I say. “I have access to clean cars there.”

Stone’s gaze lands on mine through the rearview. He lets out a sigh, a strange laugh on his lips, but he doesn’t argue.

“Of course, you do.” He shakes his head. “I’ll drop you off nearby.” His eyes meet mine in the rearview again. “Don’t make me regret this, Ren.”

I don’t answer. I can’t promise what he wants to hear.

The garage is exactly as I remember it—concrete floors stained with oil, flickering fluorescent lights, the smell of rubber and gasoline. A place designed to be forgotten.

Jax watches silently as I punch a code into a keypad hidden behind a loose panel in the wall. The door to the private section slides open with a hydraulic hiss.

“How long have you had this place?” he asks as we step inside.

“Since I found out my life was built on lies and smoke,” I answer honestly. “Since before Finn.”

The private bay houses four vehicles—a nondescript sedan, a delivery van, a motorcycle, and a black SUV with military-grade armor plating. I head straight for the SUV.

“This one,” I say, opening the driver’s door. “Keys are in the visor.”

Jax circles the vehicle, his expression unreadable. “Is this…armor plating? Bulletproof glass. Run-flat tires?” He runs a hand over the hood. “You’ve been planning for this day for a long time.”

It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “Yes.”

“Were you ever going to tell us?”

“No.”

He looks up sharply, hurt flashing across his features. I force myself to hold his gaze.

“I never wanted this for you,” I say quietly. “For any of you. This was my fight.”

“It’s our fight now,” Jax says firmly. “Hailey is pack. Finn is pack.” His eyes narrow. “And so are you, whether you like it or not.”

Something breaks loose in my chest, a shard of ice that’s been lodged there for longer than I can remember. I look away, unable to bear the weight of his loyalty.

“We need to gear up,” I say instead of acknowledging his words. I move to the back of the garage, where a heavy metal cabinet stands against the wall. Another keypad, another code. The doors swing open to reveal an arsenal.

Jax whistles low. “Jesus, Ren.”

I pull out what we need—body armor, comms, extra magazines for the handgun I’m already carrying. And my personal favorite: a matte black combat knife with an edge sharp enough to split atoms.

“Take your pick,” I tell him, stepping aside to give him access to the weapons. “But nothing that’ll slow you down. We’re going for stealth, not shock and awe.”

While Jax selects his gear, I strip off my ruined suit jacket and dress shirt. The cool air raises goosebumps along my arms and chest, highlighting the network of scars that map my personal history of violence—the ones from the underground fights, the ones from more…private lessons at Father’s hands. The ones from the night I tore everything apart to get the omegas out. And the scars from the night Finn…

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